


It's What's Inside That Counts

by Doceo_Percepto



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Bad Ending, Bendy and Sammy are concerning, Bendy is sadistic, Boris is mute, Cutting, Gen, Henry tries to be a good parent, I know Sammy loves the banjo but he's a piano guy here, Joey is useless, Self-Harm, and then a lot of blood, but he's still discovering that himself, fun educational times for your local cartoon demon, some blood, the joys of learning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-03 03:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14559450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doceo_Percepto/pseuds/Doceo_Percepto
Summary: Bendy, being a cartoon character brought to life, doesn't realize real humans are very very different from cartoons. But he's learning.





	It's What's Inside That Counts

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Joey Drew successfully brought Alice, Boris, and Bendy to life as their originally intended cartoon forms. And nobody questions this, apparently, lol. The story takes place 30 years prior to the game, but due to the direction of this fic, it can reasonably be concluded things here don't lead to the events in the game, so this is a bit AUish.

There was something fundamentally wrong with the little demon Joey had brought to life. It took Henry much, much too long to notice, and once he did, he failed to respond quickly enough. But it started light. It started… absurdly. 

It started when Joey Drew’s office door slammed open, and right into Boris, smack in the middle of a conversation he, Bendy, and Henry were having about the latest episode. Boris splattered into a spray of ink on the wall, and Henry was struck by the numb horror Boris had just died, when Bendy burst out in loud laughter.

Joey, who had been responsible for the impromptu splattering, offered up a chuckle or two. 

“But Boris-“ Henry said.

“What about him?”

“Is he okay?”

Joey laughed. “They’re toons!” He spread his arms out. “It’s like a comedy gag – Bendy got it!” As if timed, Boris reformed from the ink splatter, his hands in his pockets and a sheepish grin on his face.

And Henry chortled a bit, realizing that, yeah, sure, sticking some violence into a reel wasn’t a bad way to get a laugh from the crowd, so it made sense that similar ideas applied to the toons, even if they weren’t exactly on the page anymore.

He didn’t think anything more of it.

* * *

A week or two later, Bendy rushed into Henry’s little corner of the studio, dragging Boris behind him.

“Henry Henry Henry Henry-“

“What?” 

“Look!”

“Bendy, I’m working right now-“

“Pah-leeeeeaase – Joey is busy and nobody is paying attention,” Bendy whined.

Sighing, Henry rubbed the bridge of his nose. He liked Bendy, sure, but he was paid to work, not to look after the toon, and deadlines were fast approaching. Still, he suspected ignoring Bendy would just lead to more bothersome antics. “All right, fine. Just five minutes; I gotta fin- why do you have a bat?” 

Bendy grinned. “It’s part of what I’m gonna show ya! I got it from Joey.”

“Don’t play baseball indoors,” Henry said, horrified to imagine the amount of damage that could create in their studio. 

Boris chuckled as he pulled a baseball from his pocket, and Bendy replied, “Oh, don’t worry for a second, Henry. Boris and I came up with our very own animation short! We were inspired by that whole door thing, when Boris went splat, remember?”

“Yes…” Henry didn’t understand how something like that could be inspiring.

“All right – Boris, ya ready?” Bendy assumed a batter’s position, sticking his tongue out and waggling the bat behind his head.

The cartoon wolf gave a thumbs up, and threw the ball straight into the air. 

“Wait-“ Henry started, but then it was much too late. Bendy swung the bat. It was a full cartoony swing, complete with motion lines and everything – but he completely missed the ball. The bat collided with the side of Boris’ head, and in the very next moment the only thing left of Boris was a huge ink splatter staining the wall and floor. 

Bendy dropped the bat, shock written across his face – Henry was about to shout at him, when he realized that the shock wasn’t genuine. Bendy was _acting_. 

The demon made a big show of horror, clutching his face, dancing around anxiously, and then he leaned over the ink spatter, wringing his tail. In line with the style of the cartoons, he didn’t say a word. 

But the ink spatter was moving. Bendy fake-cried, face in his hands, and acted oblivious as the ink trickled in sinister rivulets along the floorboards, working their way behind him. 

Finally Boris, fully reformed, sprang up behind Bendy. He grabbed Bendy’s tail and pulled – to Henry’s shock, he just kept pulling, and Bendy’s tail got longer and longer while Bendy himself was shrinking and panicking, waving his hands around and trying to grab his tail back. Finally there was nothing left of Bendy but ropes of tail on the floor, which quickly dissolved into a puddle of ink.

Henry blinked, staring without comprehending, because to see this on cartoon reels was one thing, but in real life…

The ‘animation’ was apparently still going. Boris put his hands on his hips and nodded once, firmly, before pulling an apple from his pocket and taking a satisfied bite. He didn’t have long to appreciate it before Bendy reappeared, teeth monstrously sharp, and bit Boris’ tail. Poor Boris launched off the ground, while the apple went flying, ultimately landing in Bendy’s hand, where it was quickly devoured.

Then, Boris and Bendy both turned to Henry and bowed. 

Henry stared.

“Joey loved it!” Bendy declared, then, more abashedly, revised his statement, “well, he said it wasn’t _totally_ in line with the themes of our usual episodes. But I mean, he said it was a _start_ and he liked our creativity.”

“Does that not hurt?” Henry finally managed to find words.

“Sure it does,” Bendy said, quite cheerfully. “Isn’t that the point?”

* * *

Bendy and Boris continued to make their own skits, some of which Joey found inspiration from and fashioned episodes off of (although Henry had to say the ratio of violence to plot was unfavorably skewed). 

The two of them took to trotting around the studio and playing out their zany antics, evidently pleased to be getting more attention. 

Henry found it a bit disturbing, the enthusiasm with which they attacked and beat each other, but they were cartoons and obviously no long-term damage was done. 

The worst thing that ever happened was that Bendy once splatted Alice Angel, and she chased him angrily down the hall while Bendy screamed and yelped. They knocked over chairs and a projector and a table, and interrupted the work of all the animators. But after that, Joey told them off something fierce, and things were quieter for a while. Henry chalked up the violence to normal cartoon antics (it wasn’t as if there was a guide on how toons brought to life should behave!). And because they were cartoons, it wasn’t like anybody was really getting hurt.

Yet again, Henry pushed aside his concerns, and delved into his work. 

* * *

“Hey, Henry!” 

Henry curled over his desk, and frantically scribbled faster. “I’m working, Bendy.”

“Yawn. You’re always working.”

“That _is_ why I come here every day.” On this particular day, Henry had arrived twenty minutes late to work, so he was not at all in the mood for nonsense. 

“Okay, but Boris is busy right now, and I wanted to try something new, and you’re a pretty great pal, Henry, so I thought you could help me out.”

“Try something new…?” Henry half-turned to see a hammer clutched tight in Bendy’s hands. He had two seconds to process before Bendy hiked the hammer back to swing.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Henry’s chair crashed to the floor as he scrambled out of it, but only by partly climbing up on his desk did Henry manage to avoid the hammer’s trajectory. 

“Bendy, NO!”

“Aw.” Bendy frowned up at Henry. “You’re not supposed to dodge out of the way!”

“You can’t hit people, Bendy!”

“Well, ‘course ya can. Ya aren’t resistant to hammers or something are ya?” 

“No no no- It doesn’t do the same thing!”

Bendy looked at the hammer like he expected rainbows to sprout from it. “What _does_ it do?”

“It hurts!”

“Oh, that. Sure!” he grinned. “And then it’s hilarious!”

“No, Bendy-“ 

“Hey, don’t worry! I get hurt or scared a lot in the show, but it’s all in good fun, really.” He craned the hammer back again and Henry’s voice jumped an octave,

“No-no-no, humans are different! Humans are different!”

Bendy lowered the hammer. “How’re they different? Alice is a human and _she’s_ not different.”

“Humans like – real life humans, Bendy. Not cartoons!” Henry couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. Had nobody made this clear to him before?

“I get it, I get it,” Bendy said, finally tossing aside the hammer (it hit the hardwood with a heavy thunk, and Henry flinched). “You don’t wanna get hurt. You’re too _chicken!_ ” Bendy stuck out his tongue and waggled his fingers at the sides of his head.

Now that Henry wasn’t certain he was going to die from blunt force trauma or an early heart attack, he awkwardly clambered down from his desk. “You can’t hurt humans,” he emphasized, because he didn’t think Bendy was fully appreciating the gravity of the situation. 

“What? You just said it _would_ hurt.” Bendy crossed his arms. “Are you lyin’ to me, Henry?” 

“No, I mean-“ 

“Sammy says liars go to hell!” Bendy said, as happily as if he was delivering some uplifting morning news.

“What? Sammy?” The name wrenched Henry out of the subject at hand, because he didn’t think anybody actually interacted with Sammy outside of work-related things, least of all Bendy. 

“Sammy Lawrence,” Bendy confirmed, in a creepy drawl that imitated Sammy’s own voice.

“He talks to you?”

“Of course! He’s my friend.”

Great. “Look, you stay away from that loner, all right? And as for hurting people-“

“Aww, but I _like_ Sammy! Look, he also taught me this!” Bendy made a very lewd gesture.

“Bendy!”

The ink demon ran cackling out of the room, and Henry frowned at the hammer he had left behind. 

* * *

It wasn’t until the next day that Henry had the patience and time to wrangle the stubborn demon into a chair. 

“It’s not that you physically _can’t_ hit humans,” he explained painstakingly. “It’s that you _shouldn’t_.”

“Why not?” 

“Because we get hurt. Seriously hurt, not like you.”

“You splatter?”

God above, Henry wished he didn’t have that mental image. “Uh, no.”

Bendy gave him a sly look. “Come on, Henry. If ya don’t want us to mess around with you, you can just ask. Alice doesn’t think it’s fun, either, and we leave her alone. …Mostly.”

“No, you can’t – you _shouldn’t_ attack _any_ humans like that.” Henry tried frantically to think of an example, without getting too graphic for the toon, and then settled on, “We’ve got – bones, Bendy, and they-“

“Pfft, I know that! I _saw_ Tombstone Picnic, ya know.”

Tombstone Picnic – the cartoon short where a human skeleton popped from its grave and winked before pulling the ground back over itself like a blanket. That was Bendy’s understanding of bones. Okay. “Well, they can break,” Henry tried. “And it takes months to heal.”

 _“Months?”_

“Yes!” Henry gratefully seized at Bendy’s horror. “See why you shouldn’t hurt people?”

“That’s such a long time,” Bendy looked more shocked than Henry expected, and in hindsight, Henry realized this might be because Bendy had only been alive for a few months.

“Yes, it is. So it’s bad to-“

“What does it look like?” Bendy’s eyes flicked to Henry’s arm, and Henry’s skin prickled. 

“That’s not the point.”

“Well, what if you don’t hit hard enough to break them?”

“You get bruises-“ Henry despaired at Bendy appropriately comprehending this topic.

“Bruises?”

“They’re injuries – err, discolored spots on the skin.”

 _“Discolored?_ What color do they turn? Is it different for each person?”

Henry’s thoughts were a muddle as he tripped over words. This entire talk wasn’t going the way he wanted, Bendy was focusing on all the wrong things- “Stop - stop - listen to me!”

Bendy let his feet swing complacently.

“Those things cause people harm. Sometimes permanent harm. Do you understand that?”

“Uhhuh!” 

“People can die.”

“Uhhuh, okay.” 

Henry knelt to Bendy’s level. “Look at me. You like me, right?”

“Sure, Henry!” Bendy ruffled Henry’s hair. “You’re pretty much my best friend, aside from Sammy.”

So he got second place to the loner. “If I got seriously hurt, I might not come back. That’s death.”

“You can’t just reform?”

 _Finally,_ he was getting it. “No. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

“What about the end of the day, when you go home?”

“What about it?”

Bendy made a nonspecific gesture. “At the end of the day!”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Like, between episodes, Henry! When you leave the studio!” 

“I leave the studio every day, not between episodes…” This had nothing to do with the topic Henry wanted to go over, and the tangent was starting to frustrate him.

“Ya don’t reset!” Bendy finally burst out with, “you’re saying ya don’t reset at night?!”

“… Reset?”

“Like between episodes!” The subject seemed to be frustrating Bendy just as much at this point. His face and body were beginning to drink ink, which he repeatedly – and futilely - wiped out of his eyes.

“Wait, _what?_ ”

Bendy growled. “At the end of the day, you leave the studio. And you’re gross and have ink stains and your hair is messed up because ya always pull on it when you're not paying attention, and –“

“Get to the point.”

“Ya come back the next day in _new_ clothes, and your hair _fixed_ and -“

Finally, Henry got it. And it was such a bizarre, silly thing, that all his frustration came out in one bewildered laugh. Characters might get hurt, or dirty, or sick in episodes, but once the next episode rolled around, all the damage was gone, and they went back to their ‘default’ state. “You think people are like the cartoon characters!”

Bendy glared. This time, he ignored the ink rivulets running over one of his eyes. “ _Obviously,_ I’m wrong.”

It made sense, that Bendy believed that, but – Henry had never really appreciated just how different Bendy’s perspective might be. Of course he saw workers come in the morning and leave at night, and had no idea what they did in the interim. 

Another short laugh bubbled up. It was a simple, childish misunderstanding. 

“Stop laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you-“

“ **You shouldn’t lie!** ”

“I’m laughing at the circumstances-” but Henry stuttered to a halt, because Bendy had never looked so deranged – Henry caught a glimpse of terribly sharp teeth, and in the next second, Bendy was off his chair. 

Before Henry could process it, the demon slung the chair against the wall with a crash, and then he was gone.

* * *

For several days, Henry didn’t see Bendy. He didn’t show up at his desk, couldn’t be seen in the halls, and never turned up when Henry was around. 

Henry threw out the broken chair, but was oddly in disbelief about the whole thing, largely because Bendy had never _ever_ shown any serious displays of rage. He was, by default, happy-go-lucky and cheerful, even in situations where he shouldn’t be. So to see him fly off the handle, especially over something so minor, shocked Henry. 

By the next week, the animator was very concerned at the demon’s absence from his desk. He went searching, and eventually found him in one of the backrooms.

He and Boris were in the middle of what looked to be practice for another skit, and Boris sat obediently on the floor while Bendy paced in front of him, waggling a finger and saying, “- a human now, got it? So you can’t just splatter into a puddle this time, okay – that’s not how humans do it, and ya need more control.“ 

Boris nodded and crunched on some peanuts. 

“If you focus specifically-“ Bendy spun on his heel and noticed Henry. His mouth snapped shut. “What do you want?” The level of hatred in that single question shook Henry. Again, he hadn’t even realized Bendy was capable of feeling or sounding so hateful. 

“I want to apologize,” Henry emphasized, and tried very much to ignore the part of him affronted by Bendy’s behavior (still, all this anger over a simple misunderstanding!). “And maybe properly explain to you what I was trying to say,” he added as an after thought.

“Oh, _that_ isn’t necessary.” Bendy crossed his arms. “I’ll accept your apology, maybe, but you don’t need to explain. Sammy already told me everything. About how people die and don’t reset. _And_ he didn’t laugh at me.”

“I’m glad Sammy explained, then,” it was difficult to get those words out politely, and Bendy could tell. 

“You’ve got a real lyin’ problem, Henry. Ya know, Sammy said you were wrong, too. People don’t just up and die if you hit ‘em once or twice.”

“Well, that’s true…” It wasn’t the point, but it was true. The end of his statement was emphasized by a loud crunch from Boris as the cartoon wolf watched the two of them. “I hope Sammy made it clear that even if people don’t just ‘up and die,’ you still shouldn’t-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, jeez.” Bendy waved his hand dismissively. “No hurting humans.”

“Okay.” Henry exhaled. He wasn’t exactly… comforted… by this, but pressing the subject would probably just make things worse. “Look… I’m sorry for lying, and I’m sorry for laughing at you. That was wrong of me.” 

By saying this, Henry hoped that he could provide a good example for Bendy, even if the demon wouldn’t get over his grudge. Henry did _not_ anticipate the huge grin that spread across Bendy’s face.

“I forgive ya, Henry,” he said easily, “All ya had to do was apologize, really, and admit you were wrong.”

Oh. 

Bendy turned to face Boris. “Sorry, Boris! I’ll have ta continue teaching ya later, ‘cause I’m gonna spend the rest of the day with Henry!”

“Wait-“

* * *

The 180 turn in Bendy’s demeanor surprised Henry almost as much as when Bendy had gotten angry in the first place. The entire grudge he’d held for the past week was now apparently gone, as he trotted happily at Henry’s side, convinced he and Henry were going to just hang out all day. 

“Look, I still have to work-“

“You can take one day off,” Bendy whined.

“No, I really can’t-“

“Caaan’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t. What do you even want to do?”

“Hmmm… Ya know, I didn’t really think of that, I just missed seeing ya, Henry!”

It was probably not conducive to point out that Bendy easily could have visited Henry, if he wasn’t so determined to stay away until Henry apologized. “Look, how about this,” Henry said, “I’ll get you a pencil and some paper, and you can draw like I do. We can draw together.”

“Ooh, I’ve never gotten to draw before!” Bendy practically bounced in place. “Sometimes I think about taking the cels you finish and working on them at night, adding my own spin-“

Henry elected to _not_ make a big deal out of that but by God, he hoped Bendy continued to resist that urge. 

“-but it’s an even neater idea to just make my own animations!”

“Yeah, that’s right. Maybe just don’t tell Joey I’m letting you use our supplies?” The owner of the studio had recently been getting really picky about the use and management of supplies in the studio. Henry didn’t think a stack of papers and a pencil would be that much of a loss, but you never know. 

“Oh, I won’t, pinkie promise,” Bendy said. Briefly, Henry wondered where he had learned _that_ from. 

Henry gathered extra supplies, and set them down on the floor beside his desk. Bendy stared at the blank sheets with a suddenly uncertain look. “What do I draw?”

“Whatever you like.” Joey would have inserted some inspirational speech about drawing being the art of the soul or some nonsense, but Henry just said, “maybe draw yourself? Or Boris?”

“Hmmm…” Bendy sat cross-legged on the floor and leaned over the paper. 

Satisfied that he had both found a hobby for Bendy while also freeing himself from the responsibility of looking after him, Henry returned to his own desk.

Several minutes later (not nearly as long as Henry was hoping), Bendy poked his side and demanded Henry’s attention. “Look, I made my own animation!”

Sighing, Henry grabbed the paper that Bendy was waving impatiently in the air. On it was a stick figure character directly labeled “Henry” in a child’s scrawl, and a dark horned blob that Henry assumed to be Bendy himself. 

The “animation” was three frames drawn in succession, the first with them simply standing there, the second with Bendy swinging a bat at Henry, and the third with stick figure Henry exploding into an ink splatter and bones. At least, that’s what Henry guessed the aggressive black scribbling and white lines all over the stick figure was.

“Do you like it?” Bendy asked. 

“Umm…. It looks good, Bendy. Nice start.”

* * *

The first animation of Bendy’s led to an alarming foray where Bendy drew just about as many ways as one could imagine to mutilate the studio workers. Henry was frequently depicted as the victim, identifiable by his cap and the hint of facial hair, but other common candidates were Sammy, Thomas, and Norman. The last one disturbed Henry the most, primarily because Bendy had chosen to differentiate stick figure Norman from the rest of the characters by placing a badly drawn projector where his head should be. 

All the pictures unanimously involved copies amounts of black ink and white lines that Henry supposed passed for bones.

Very rapidly, however, Bendy’s art improved from stick figures to more complete humanoid figures, which admittedly looked a bit like spoons but still had more detail and defining features. 

In another week, he was including backgrounds, all different locations in the studio, and his grasp of human anatomy and clothing vastly improved. The proportions were still off, but Henry was nonetheless both impressed and perturbed when he found a mostly accurate sketch of his own spine being ripped from his body. The most glaring difference from reality, of course, was the replacement of blood with ink, and the lack of any musculature or internal organs.

“Do you like it?” Bendy asked – it was one of his most frequent questions about his art.

Henry frowned. “Bendy, why don’t you draw something other than people getting hurt?”

Bendy snatched back the paper angrily. “All that work, and that’s all ya say?”

* * *

One morning, as Henry settled in for a long day of work, Bendy appeared, this time without clutching any paper. He climbed onto the top of Henry’s desk and curled up. That had always been one of his favorite places to lounge. He usually like to chat, though, and Henry had quite a lot to do, so he asked warily,

“Don’t you want to draw, Bendy?” because despite the morbidity of Bendy’s drawings, they at least distracted him and gave him something constructive to do. 

“No.” Bendy rested his head on his hands. 

“Ah.” Henry set up as normal, with the assumption he’d have to shoo Bendy away for being distracting. To Henry’s surprise, Bendy didn’t interrupt, or try to steal pens, or flick his tail in the way of Henry’s work. He didn’t do those or any of the other annoying habits he normally employed to get Henry’s attention. 

Instead, he simply stayed coiled at the top of Henry’s desk like a watchful cat, as Henry began to trace the cels. Henry was infinitely grateful. He honestly really liked the company, when Bendy wasn’t being disruptive.

A solid hour passed this way – which was the longest Henry had ever witnessed the demon be quiet, apart from when he was drawing. Bendy seemed perfectly content to follow the path of Henry’s hands as they skated over the cels, tracing the same lines over and over and over and over again. 

It was only when Henry leaned back in his chair to stretch that Bendy finally spoke, in a low introspective tone, “I saw what you meant, about humans being different.”

“Hm?” It took a second for Henry to remember what Bendy was referencing.

“Sammy showed me.”

“Showed you what?” Henry replied slowly.

“He cut his hand. It really doesn’t heal right back. And it’s _red_.”

Henry dropped his pencil. _“What?”_

Bendy looked at Henry’s hands as if seeing through them, thinking of what was inside them. Henry went cold when he made the connection that that was what Bendy had been watching for the past hour. “It’s very colorful.”

* * *

Henry went to see Sammy. It wasn’t something he _wanted_ to do – in fact, Henry did his best to stay far away from the music department. The other fellows working there were all right, of course. But Sammy? He was strange - Norman and Wally both told stories about the man’s unnatural quirks, and the few times he and Henry had spoken proved that clearly.

Regrettably, talking to him was inevitable at this point. So Henry slunk down to the basement floor, and into the large recording room with instruments scattered all over the place. 

In the corner was the single piano, where the tall narrow shape of Sammy Lawrence slumped, little notes trickling out into the empty room. 

Henry walked up to the piano. From this point, he could see Sammy’s left hand was bandaged, with only his fingers and his thumb sticking out from the white gauze. “Hullo, Sammy.”

“Go away.”

Great start. That went just about as well as any past interaction Henry had ever had with Sammy, who seemed to be allergic to his coworkers and preferred solitude far more than any man should. “Sammy-“

“Sh-sh!” Sammy held up his good hand. With the bandaged one, he played a short melody on the piano. His expression screwed up. Shaking his head, he repeated the jingle, this time with a note or two changed. “Hmm…” he returned both hands to the piano, and fluidly launched into an entire song.

“Sammy,” Henry said sharply.

Both hands slammed down on the piano keys, and then were still. Completely calm, he uttered, “how am I supposed to get any work done with you interrupting me?”

Ugh. His physical appearance masqueraded as a normal man, but he was so slimy and unnatural on the inside. “Can’t get work done, huh?” Henry retorted. 

“Between this stupid ink pump, Wally bothering me about his keys, and now you…” 

“I don’t imagine that helps,” Henry gestured at Sammy’s bandaged hand.

The music director’s hands slid off the piano and settled in his lap. His glare was cautious, clever. “I barely notice it’s there.”

“How’d you hurt it?”

“Fell on some glass. Now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, don’t you think you can let me go back to what I’m paid to be doing?”

“Really. Fell on glass.”

Sammy’s blue eyes flicked to the corners of the room, then back to Henry. “Bendy told you, then.”

Nonchalant, just like that. “So it’s true?” Henry demanded – but there was already no doubt in his mind. It was just worse to have it confirmed and to see the evidence in front of him. 

“Is that what brought you down here?” sighed Sammy, drifting his fingers over the piano keys. 

“What’s wrong with you, Sammy? Why did you do some freak thing like that?”

“He wanted to see.”

“Children want to stay up all night, but that doesn’t mean you let them!”

“Bendy’s not a kid, Henry.”

“It’s wrong any way you look at it. Hurting yourself just to show someone else?” It was a weird, unnatural thing, that of course only Sammy would do. 

“He thought everyone was full of ink and bones,” Sammy pointed out. “Can’t let someone walk around with that idea in their head.”

“So then you _explain_ it to him.”

Sammy shrugged, and tapped a few keys on the piano. He tilted his head as if hearing for something that wasn’t there, tapped the same keys. With a nonchalance that could have driven any man insane, he said, “it’s too late now, isn’t it?”

* * *

Weeks passed. Deadlines reared their heads, and Henry had to work overtime much more often than he would have liked – this kept him away from home, and away from Linda, and left him hunched and sore over his desk well into the evening. Sometimes Bendy hung around, but most of the time Henry preferred when he didn’t, because productivity became extra critical when his hours were ticking into the double digits. 

Once, as five o clock rolled around and Henry was yet again stuck at his desk, Norman passed by on his way out. 

“Do you ever leave this studio?” he laughed.

“Can’t remember the last time I did,” Henry joked, but he just felt tired. 

“Joey better be paying you a handsome sum,” Norman shook his head. “Don’t think anyone stays so late as you. ‘cept maybe Sammy.”

“He stays late?” 

“Sure. The wacko holes up down there. Now there’s a fellow that might really never leave.”

“Is that right…” Henry said thoughtfully. Come to think of it, when everyone else clocked out, Henry didn’t often see Sammy. But what would he have to stay late for? Could he not write songs just as easily at home?

Henry waved Norman off, and pushed the thought from his head. It wasn’t his responsibility to keep track of Sammy. Henry stretched, popped his shoulders, and then settled in for a long evening. Bendy joined him, for a time, but mostly his chatting made everything take longer, so Henry shooed him off around seven PM. 

Roughly an hour later, Henry surprised himself by finishing the collection of cels for the current scene much faster than anticipated. 

He set down his pencil with a satisfied sigh. As he gathered his things, he thought eagerly about coming home to Linda. She’d be unhappy, of course, about him staying late yet again, but she was always very sympathetic nonetheless.

It was only as Henry placed his cap on his head and strode to the exit that he paused, and realized he hadn’t seen Sammy. But that was strange, wasn’t it? One would have to pass Henry’s desk to get to the exit, but in all the times Henry had stayed overtime, even late into the wee hours of the morning, Sammy had never passed by.

Henry frowned. What a bizarre man. _Did_ he ever leave the studio? 

The idea of Sammy Lawrence, of all people, stewing down in the basement while the rest of the studio was deathly silent, unnerved Henry. What could he possibly be doing down there?

Henry set his case down. It would only take five minutes to check, and then he’d be back on his way to Linda. Ever since the whole hand cutting deal, Henry was suspicious Sammy might be doing other unnatural things, and maybe it would be best to ensure he wasn’t.

Sighing, Henry stalked down to the music department, a little hopeful that he’d find something to report to Joey Drew to get Sammy fired.

As he approached the recording studio, he heard low voices, the words of which he couldn’t pick out. The hall was dark, but at the very end, hazy yellow light filtered through the cracks of the recording room’s door. 

Slinking up to the door, Henry realized that there wasn’t any mistaking it – that was Bendy’s voice. Now that immediately set off Henry’s temper, because he had hoped (and some part of him believed) that Bendy had the wisdom to stay away from Sammy. Apparently, that wasn’t true. Henry opened the door with half a mind to tell him off – but the words died in his throat.

Sammy was here all right. He was sitting backwards on the piano bench, lazy coils of smoke twirling from the cigarette loosely held between his fingers. Bendy stood between his legs, admiring the pale forearm that Sammy held out for his appraisal. The exposed skin was striped with pink scars, dozens of them, in various stages of healing. Blood was spilling from a series of new, fresh cuts, and dribbling down Sammy's wrist.

Henry stared, wordless, paralyzed, his brain scrambling to understand what was going on. Neither of them seemed to have noticed him yet. Neither of them seemed to be concerned about the fact Sammy was freely bleeding.

“Can I-?” That was Bendy, in a soft, reverential tone Henry had never heard before.

“I’m getting dizzy…” 

“Just one more, please.” Bendy met Sammy’s gaze; the composer’s expression softened. 

“Yes. One more, then.” 

Without hesitation, Bendy lifted something that glinted silver, and dragged it over Sammy’s arm. Every part of Henry recoiled to see Sammy’s skin split open in a cut longer than the others – ruby red beads welled from the wound, but Sammy didn’t flinch, didn’t jerk away. Instead, he took a deep drag from his cigarette, and held the smoke in his lungs.

Before Henry could stop it, he uttered, “ _sonofabitch.”_

Bendy spun around with a startled squeak and Sammy jerked his head up. His eyes were lidded, his face pale. Smoke flowed from his lips as he exhaled. “Henry,” he acknowledged, not the least bit guilty. 

While Henry spluttered, Sammy snubbed out his cigarette and dug out bandages from his pocket with trembling fingers.

“H-hi, Henry,” Bendy said, and had the decency to look ashamed.

Henry raked his fingers through his hair and turned his back on the two of them, just focusing on breathing. All right. So this was happening. If the scars on Sammy’s forearm indicated anything, it had been happening a lot.

“Henry-“ the small demon appeared at Henry’s side, a mournful expression on his face.

“No.” Henry swore again and shut his eyes. Deep breaths.

“I’m sorry-“

“Give me that,” Henry finally ordered, holding out his hand.

Bendy glanced away.

“ _Now,_ Bendy.”

Tail drooping, he handed over the razor; Henry made a face of disgust at the bloodied blade.

Turning, he fixed his gaze on Sammy in time to see the music director messily tuck the tail of the bandage in, then yank his sleeve down. 

“Why?” Henry demanded. 

“Relax,” Sammy murmured, and Henry had never hated his smooth voice more than now. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s not _nothing,_ how long – how _often_ -?”

“None of this is your business, Henry. Why don’t you go on upstairs and draw some more pretty pictures?”

Henry stared at Sammy, dumbfounded. Was everyone around him insane? “What the hell is wrong with you, Lawrence?”

“Your voice, it’s grating,” Sammy replied, rubbing his temple. 

Henry seethed. “Joey needs to know about this.”

Sammy looked unconcerned, but Bendy grabbed Henry’s coat, “no, please don’t tell Joey, Henry, come on – “

Henry ripped away, “Then don’t let him-!” but then his words faltered because it wasn’t like Sammy had been hurting Bendy – Bendy was the one making the cuts, the one asking for more. That thought settled like a slimy worm in his belly. He wanted to believe that Bendy held no blame for these events: that it was Sammy’s weird _unnaturalness_ at fault. But it was getting very difficult to believe that. 

“Please, please don’t tell Joey,” whined Bendy, wringing the bottom of Henry’s coat.

“Why are you doing this?” Henry demanded.

“Don’t tell Joey, I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Is it something Sammy’s making you do?”

Sammy snorted derisively, as if Henry had something particularly funny, and Henry glared.

“N-no,” Bendy answered, avoiding Henry’s eyes. “I just like it, I guess.”

From the piano bench, Sammy sucked in a sharp breath. Henry’s stomach twisted in revulsion when he glimpsed an awful adoring look on his face. Sammy really was insane. 

“No more coming down here,” Henry decided. “No more talking to Sammy. No more of – this –“ he waved his hand nonspecifically. “You’re done.”

“What?” Bendy’s face crumpled, “but Henry-“

“Don’t worry,” Sammy drew Bendy’s attention in his most lulling voice, and he shared a look with the little devil. “It’s gonna be all right.”

“And you – I better not see you around Bendy again, or I swear I will find a way to get you fired.” Henry grabbed Bendy’s wrist and yanked him from the room. 

* * *

The razor he wrapped in a handkerchief and tucked at the bottom of the trashcan. Then he dragged Bendy to the bathroom and shoved his hands under the sink water to scrub them clean of blood. 

“I-I’m sorry Henry, please don’t tell Joey-“

“Be quiet.” Henry didn’t know what to think, or how to go forward. Didn’t know what to tell Joey, or how to tell him. 

“I won’t do it again, please…” Ink was starting to swirl in the water as Bendy leaned against the sink, panting and melting anxiously. “Joey will be real mad at me-“

“I told you not to hurt people,” Henry said.

“I know, but Sammy said it was okay, he said he didn’t mind-“

“Sammy’s _wrong!_ ”

“Henry, that hurts!”

Abruptly, Henry realized how hard he’d been scrubbing Bendy’s hands, and he released immediately – Bendy skittered backward from the sink.

“I-I’m sorry,” Henry uttered. 

Ink was spilling over Bendy's eyes again, and Henry suddenly became overly aware of the fact they were alone. He thought about all the scars lining Sammy’s arm. There had been _dozens._ If it was just once or twice, it wouldn’t be so bad, but they’d made a _habit_ of it. 

Henry realized his own hands were shaking. “I just don’t understand why…”

“Don’t tell Joey.” Bendy clutched his skull; ink flowed over his hands as he shuddered. Henry took a step back. 

“Calm down-“

“ **Don’t!** ” It distorted into an unintelligible shriek.

“Okay,” Henry breathed. “Okay.”

* * *

Henry wasn’t comfortable around Bendy the way he used to be.

He dove into his work, partly out of necessity (yet again, Joey was pushing an impossible schedule), and partly because he wanted to get his mind off recent events. This latter purpose was admittedly made difficult by the fact he had to draw the little devil every day: while Bendy’s character had a very different personality to the real life counterpart, they shared the same appearance and same grin. Henry had a much harder time enjoying what he was doing.

Nowadays, when he stayed late, he also found less and less pleasure in having Bendy’s company. Yes, it was good that the demon hung around him rather than Sammy, but Henry had never really appreciated just how creepy it could be to be entirely alone in the studio with just Bendy (and presumably, Boris and Alice, though he never saw the two of them). If anything were to happen, nobody would find him until the next morning. 

Not that anything was going to happen. It was just, a thought he had.

Meanwhile, Sammy sometimes clocked out, sometimes didn’t, and Henry hated that Bendy gazed after his back with a hopeful look. Ultimately, Henry spoke with Joey, bringing up his concerns that Sammy was staying very late in the studio. But Joey, in his usual booming voice, passed it off as nothing, and said that Sammy was a very ambitious man who presumably dedicated his extra time to song writing for the show. 

Again and again, Henry considered telling Joey about what he had witnessed, but he didn’t know how to begin, and he didn’t know how Bendy would take it.

So instead, things fell into an uneasy rhythm. When Bendy was at Henry’s desk, Henry got nervous about being alone with the demon. When he wasn’t at Henry’s desk, Henry got nervous that he was around Sammy. 

Questions that Henry should have demanded answers to months ago began to swell to the surface of his mind, questions about just how exactly Joey had created Bendy and the other toons. Questions about their nature. 

All this made work nearly suffocating, made finishing on time impossible. 

As the stress mounted, and as Bendy got increasingly distant and surly, Henry finally decided he needed to go to Joey. That things were out of his hands, and Joey would have to know what to do. 

Regrettably, he didn’t decide this fast enough.

* * *

The morning started like any other, where Henry set his case by his desk and began to set up. He noticed Bendy was gone – of course he did, because at this point he was always far too aware when Bendy was near – but he actively tried not to think about it. 

He was pulling pens from his case when a bloodcurdling scream tore through the studio – his heart leapt into his throat, and his pens struck the floor. 

And an awful suspicion took root, but it couldn’t be right. It _better_ not be right. 

Henry bolted to the hallway, where he nearly collided with Thomas Connor. “Was that Allison?” he gasped.

“Sounded like.” Thomas said, face white. “I think it was coming from downstairs- the music department -“ 

Henry raced down the stairs, Thomas at his heels, and was quickly joined by Wally and Norman.

“What happened, what happened?” Norman asked. 

Henry burst through the recording room door, and halted.

Allison stood off to one side, clutching her face in abject terror. She turned to Henry, mouth gaping, “I-I just found him like this, I don’t know what happened-“

She gestured, and Henry froze in place. Sammy was slumped over the piano. Blood pooled beneath his body, dripped down the front of the piano, soaked into the crevices between keys. He wasn’t moving. 

Thomas and Norman both rushed immediately to his side.

“He’s breathing!” Norman reported. “Someone call the ambulance!”

“He’s still breathing,” Henry heard Wally repeat. “By God man, he’s still breathing, with all that blood.” 

“You gotta stop the bleeding-“ Norman ripped off his overcoat, grabbed at Sammy’s arm; with Thomas’ help, they began to wrap his mutilated forearm. 

“I-I’ll call,” Allison said, and bolted from the room. 

“By God, by God,” Wally was saying, slack-jawed. 

Henry hung back, his eyes roving around the room. Looking for the demon he knew had to be near. Then he glimpsed him – Bendy was slinking by the far wall, head lowered in a familiar, guilty pose. 

Henry sucked in a sharp breath, opened his mouth to say something, and then the demon vanished into a splotch of ink on the wall.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, I got a little lazy there at the end. These long chapters kill me. I have a second chapter planned, but I'm not 100% sure if I will write it. I'm leaving the option just in case though.


End file.
